The Day the Earth Changed its Axis (or so it felt like)
by Afrokot
Summary: #3 in the 'Fast forward' series. The revelation day in the Stilinski household.


It feels like going into a battle against an unknown enemy, and Stiles briefly regrets not painting green stripes on his face. Also, there totally should be background music. He starts whistling. For some reason, his brain came up with the Imperial March.

Lowering his voice to an appropriate level, Scott declares solemnly, "This day will go down in history. Your courage will not be forgotten. They will remember it…", a dramatic pause, "as The Coming Out Day!" _Yeah, he gets it._

Stiles snorts a laugh, nervousness's temporary forgotten. "The bigger they are, the bigger they are, bro!" he quotes, cracking a smile. "And that's why you are my favorite best friend!" and absolutely ignores Scott's protests about the 'favorite best' being 'the only best'. At least, he is not just _'the only'_ anymore.

After a moment Stiles adds, "I should buy greasepaint, by the way." Oh, and there is his front door already. How did they get here so quickly? Turning to face Scott, he inhales.

"Dude," he begins somberly, "I can't chicken out. Not again. You have to stop me from trying, you understand?" Catching his best friend's gaze, he continues with emphasis on every word, "Do. Not. Let. Me. Get. Out. Of. It!"

Nodding in understanding, Scott parts his shoulder reassuringly, "Don't worry. I've got your back."

"Yeah, ok, yes." Stiles exhales loudly. "Show time." And opens the door.

The house greets them with the sound of working TV, and going by the shouts he can just make out with his human ears, it's a football game. That makes him hesitate. His dad so rarely has days off, and Stiles sure as hell doesn't want to crash it… Then Scott looks at him questioningly, and having no other choice, Stiles steels his resolve and steps forward.

The game on screen is underway, it's nearing the end of the third quarter. Even though Stiles knows he is watching a recording (since he was the one who programmed it last week), his father is so ridiculously engrossed in it, Stiles can't help but smile at his enthusiasm. It's a comforting sight in its familiarity. The Sheriff is sitting on the edge of the couch with a beer bottle in hand, eyes glued to the screen as he shouts 'no, what are you doing, moron!' This all is expected. What is _not_ expected, however, is Chris Argent sitting right next to him. Since when exactly does Mr. Argent hang out with his dad?

Stiles clears his throat hesitantly, knocking on the doorframe. That gets everyone's attention.

Dad pauses the game, players freeze in ludicrous poses. "Oh, hello, son, Scott." To Stiles' left Scott murmurs a polite greeting.

"I didn't know you'd be back so early. How was your training?"

"Hi, dad," he says. "Mr. Argent," Stiles nods at the hunter, who nods back agreeably. "As usual - nothing to write home about," a shrugs. "Um… I wanted to tell you something. Maybe this is not the time." He glances at Chris uncertainly.

Just like that his father's posture goes from relaxes to alarmed in less than a second, and while he asks, "Is everything alright?", Stiles dearly wishes to hit himself with something heavy (a dumbbell, perhaps) for making him worry. He unconsciously backs away, "You know what, this is totally not the time, let's do it later! No need to ruin your game, yeah?" he is _so_ ready to bolt.

"Stiles," dad and Scott says simultaneously, with the same amount of fondness; and while his dad gets up from the couch, his friend catches him by the wrist and tugs him closer, effectively stopping his retreat.

Glancing at Scott, who squeezes his hand encouragingly, he mumbles, "Yes, no backing out. Right."

Mr. Argent stands up as well. "Maybe I should leave."

And while Stiles doesn't really want him present, he is not going to destroy dad's weekend completely by throwing out his friend on top of everything else. Nope, not going to happen. "No, it really doesn't matter all that much…" he takes a deep breath and looks at his father. "So, you remember that night at the Jungle? When you told me I'm not gay?" Stiles swallows, his throat is suddenly dry. Gathering his courage, he finally says, "Turned out I am. Well, not gay, but definitely bi. Even with my taste in clothes."

His dad is regarding him patiently, waiting for Stiles to continue. The lines around his eyes and mouth that usually betray his concern are gradually smoothing out. Judging by his smile, Mr. Argent is highly amused. _'Not a good sign on any day, uh.'_ It's like he is watching an entertaining evening show - 'And now, ladies and gentlemen, meet Stiles Stilinski, an aspiring stand-up comedian! Let's greet him with applause!'. Ok, maybe he is not exactly fair to the hunter. Mr. Argent does have a different setting - he can be deadly serious. With a great emphasis on _deadly_. Anyway, back to reality.

"And… mmm… you know… that's it," Stiles's mumble trailed to a stop, the level of his anxiety spikes as he awaits reaction.

"That's it?" his dad repeats, relief in his voice. "And here I was starting to think it's something dangerous and crime-related. Are you sure you don't have anything else to tell me?"

"No? I mean, I don't think so," he replies in confusion.

His father rather pointedly stares at Stiles' left hand, which just so happened to be clasped in a bone-crushing (not literally, thank God) grip by a hand belonging to Scott. _'Oh, right, absolutely forgot about that.'_ He is squeezing said hand so tightly, his fingerprints must be imprinted on it by now. He'd totally check it out _(dust it out, huh, get it?)_ later if not for werewolf regeneration. And then the implication sinks in.

Letting go of Scott as if burned, and shouting a scandalized "What?!", Stiles nearly stutters, tongue's tripping over syllables in indignation. "No! No, dad! Geez!" he makes a disgusted grimace. "How could you..?! Argh!"

Ugh! And his dad finds it funny. Stiles glares, but then remembers something else. "You are not mad at me, right? Or… or disappointed?"

Turning serious once more, dad asks, "Why would I be? You are my son. I will always love you, no matter what." Which is good, great, marvelous even; but then dad adds awkwardly, "And it would be hypocritical of me, anyway."

"Come again?"

Oh, and now it's his father's turn to be nervous, apparently. "I didn't know how to tell you, but if this is the time for revelations…", says his dad throwing his arm around Mr. Argent's neck (and Stiles has actually forgotten about him until this very moment) and giving the hunter a one-armed hug. Chris goes willingly, smiling that infuriating cheshire cat smile, and kissed Stiles' father on the temple. _'Wait, what?!'_

"Ah, to hell with it," says his dad, "We are dating," and breaks Stiles's brain.

Stiles is gaping at them unattractively. Restarting his thinking process takes a moment, and he mumbles on autopilot, "That's unexpected. I'm… I am speechless. I have nothing to say. Maybe I'm in shock? Yes, definitely. I'm in shock. Where is my orange blanket?" Actually, on a second (or maybe two thousand seven hundred thirty-second) thought, he doesn't understand _why_ he is so shocked. Closing his eyes and taking deep breaths, Stiles readjusts his world view. "Ok, good. I'm good. I'd prefer to be sitting, but whatever."

He blinks and finally smiles at his dad. "Congratulations! You managed to hook up with the deadliest and creepiest human being I know! Well done! I commend your good taste. It's one more proof we are related!" that earns him a sheepish smile in return.

His dad gets a weird besotted expression going at full force, and isn't it wrong _on so many levels_ that he is directing it at _Chris freaking Argent?!_

"And Mr. Argent, do I need to have the Talk with you?" it may sound light-hearted, but the warning doesn't go unnoticed, not by the hunter at any rate.

"Stiles," his dad says exasperatedly, but relaxes again, so all is well.

Stiles waives him off, "So, we should probably go." Going backwards, he tugs Scott by the sleeve. "Enjoy the game, don't drink too much, it's bad for your liver, and don't do anything I wouldn't!"

Scott has just enough time to say, "Nice seeing you, Mr. S; goodbye, Chris," before he is whisked away.

Pausing on the threshold, Stiles shouts, "Bye, dad; bye, future stepdad!"

"Stiles!" shouts his father back.

Stiles laughs, and with "Love you, too!", closes the door.

Briskly going to the Jeep, he observes suddenly, "You are not surprised. Why aren't you surprised?" Stopping abruptly, he missteps, and nearly stumbling (Scott catches him, of course. Supernatural reflexes, duh), points an accusing finger. "Oh! You knew! You knew and you didn't tell me! What the hell, dude?!"

"Um. I thought you knew and didn't want to talk about it?" Scott is adorably confused. Pity his puppy eyes stopped working on Stiles somewhere in the fourth grade. He had developed an immunity!

Climbing into the car, he rummages inside the glove compartment searching for a bottle of water. He distinctly remembers putting it there. "I didn't! My dad's dating the deadliest hunter in town, and you think I wouldn't comment on that? Hello, have you met me?! So not cool, bro!" Oh, here it is!

Climbing after him, Scott mumbles, "Sorry." It sounds genuinely apologetic.

And, ok, maybe he is not as immune as he previously believed. Sighing, Stiles pats his arm. "You are forgiven."

Perking up, Scott, bless his furry soul, tries to cheer him as well. And it's not like Stiles is upset per se, because he is not. He is happy for his dad, he really is, but… He can't decide what to feel, ok? Scott nudges him slightly, "It could be worse, you know."

"Yeah? I don't see how." Unscrewing the cap, he drinks the water in big gulps. Finally.

"Well… He could be dating Peter," says his best friend.

And just like that Stiles is choking. Spraying water everywhere, he suffers from a violent coughing fit.

* * *

Unbeta-ed. Saw a mistake? Point it out with a comment or PM and it will go away.

Merry X-mas!


End file.
